PM Rudd practising his apology speech.
PM Kevin Rudd plans to say sorry not just to the stolen generation of indigenous Australians but to all Christians on behalf of God and Adam and Eve for original sin. He will also apologise to Evolutionists on behalf of the Darwin family for those living in lower socio-economic areas still evolving into humans, and anyone who has been out with Wayne Carey since he quit football. He also plans to apologise to the Jews on behalf of Hitler’s parents.
Kate Neilson (brunette on the left) with a blonde former friend after a night out with Wayne.
Current mood: ditzy.
I used to be blonde but became a brunette because Wayne prefers brunettes. Wow! How smart am I? That puts an end to the dumb blonde myth. I was in NEW YORK!!! at the time. Not everyone is as well-travelled or as cashed up as me.
I live my life every day as if it were my last day on earth because it might be if I stay with Wayne, and he bashes me to death one night.
Sometimes you meet guys with heaps of money and you just gel with them, well that’s me and Wayne!
I LOVE animals and I love the fact that I'm also in love with an animal too.
Loving someone is a gift to yourself. I shouted myself lots of presents when I fell in love with Wayne and he lent me one of his credit cards. Wow! I like taking a spa in his premiership jumper and a Kangaroos flag as a bandana. It’s a cool look. I’m more covered up in the spa than I was when I was a Grand Prix girl.
Love from my point of view is to be bashed one day in the US and make up the next day in Melbourne. I’m so girly. It’s wonderful to be with an aggressive man like no other.
I am crazy about Madonna! Brunettes who turn blonde just hit it off with blondes who turn brunette. They have so much in common!
I know what I want from life and Im going to get it! I hate men that spit but bashing a woman is different. Wayne sometimes dribbles but only when he’s on drugs.
I love to have a good time and party but I also know how to balance things out by having wild parties some days and tame ones the next.
I love heating up pre-cooked TV dinners in a microwave while getting completely sloshed on cask wine. I stopped buying wine in glass bottles after our Miami trip.
I’m a really caring person who embraces the whole world. I hate negative people and that gold-digging chick I used to be friends with! The one that said she slept with Wayne the night I was sleeping with him.
I hate my belly button being touched so I put a bandaid over it.
I have completed a two hour correspondence course with NIDA and Nicole Kidman, and even have an online certificate – bring on the Hollywood offers!
Enjoy my life!
“Too much piss, not enough drugs,” Demetriou said at a press conference. “The King needs to chill a bit for a while until this whole incident blows over so we can install him as an AFL Hall of Fame as a Legend like we did with Gary Ablett Snr. At least the bitch didn’t die of a drug overdose like Ablett’s one-night stand,” he chuckled, referring to Carey’s gold-digging ex girlfriend, who is now on the lookout for another sucker AFL bad boy footballer. “She only got a few major scars to her face and a few bruises, and let’s face it, most AFL groupie chicks deserve it,” he added as his wife tried to interject, was punched in the mouth, and carried out on a stretcher to Prince Alfred Hospital. When quizzed on why Ben Cousins would oversee Carey’s anger management course, Demetriou said, “Placid people are not qualified to deal with anger management. To manage anger you have to be familiar with anger itself, and that’s why Ben got my nod.”
Officer Wayne Carey gives the thumbs up to his new Miami PD uniform.
Miami Chief of Police, Ty Dup has dropped assault charges against Wayne Carey and offered him a job as an honorary battering ram for the local SWAT team. “It’s the thickness of his head,” Chief Dup said. “It doesn’t seem to matter to Wayne how many times he rams it into something or someone, he always comes back for more with the same thick head. He’ll also be handy if we have to subdue women. Instead of a baton, gun, capsicum spray or handcuffs, he’ll be issued with two empty wine glasses.” Carey said he was looking forward to wearing a police hat to cover his baldness but ruled out a football comeback with the Miami Dolphins. “Plus chicks just dig guys in uniform.” Carey’s girlfriend, Kate Neilson, said she was still cut up over the incident but the blows had been softened when she was offered a lucrative role as a car crash victim who flies through a windscreen in the latest TAC (Victorian Transport Authority Commission) ads.
Prime Minister Kevin Rudd has released his first draft of a revised list of true/false questions immigrants will have to get right before becoming Australian citizens. “By putting the answers in the pamphlet in 28 languages we hope that non English speaking immigrants will be able to get most of them right by the seventh try.”
Kangaroos learnt to hop when Captain Cook’s men shot at the aborigines and missed.
Australian Rules Football was introduced to Australia by Italians working on the Snowy River Scheme using a spaghetti meatball they kicked out of shape, because they couldn’t afford a real football.
Meat Pies were originally made of stale bread & butter pudding filled with rabbit gristle, not the minced leftovers from the abattoirs and recycled cardboard.
Holden cars are named after Australian Idol judge Mark Holden.
Don Bradman’s average of 99.94 is still the highest HSC score at Bowral High School.
Detention Centres are English schools for people who fail the Immigration Test.
The saying ‘Throw another prawn on the barbie’ is an expression of Aussie mateship when blokes find out a footballer is playing with his sister’s doll in the changeroom toilets.
Ayers Rock turns nuclear orange at night because it is a toxic waste dump.
Australia’s capital city was named after the country’s famous bush poet ACT ‘Canberra’ Patterson.
Ned Kelly’s last words were, ‘Life is stuffed.’
The big M outside McDonald’s stands for Mosque and as soon as there are more Muslims in Australia than members of any other religion, all their restaurants will be converted into prayer centres.
Vegemite is recycled and liquefied burnt toast.
Phar Lap was the only Australian horse to have a heart transplant and win the Melbourne Cup the same year.
Australia’s national colours of green and gold are symbolic of a VB label and a pizza with lots of pineapple and cheese on top.
Advance Australia Fair was Kylie Minogue’s follow up to ‘I should be so lucky.’
The Sydney Opera House was designed by Paul Hogan and Ken Done during a smoko break on the Harbour Bridge to represent bedsheets and pillowcases billowing on a Hill’s Hoist clothes line on a windy day.
Dingoes make good pets for children.
Before becoming Prime Minister and marrying Dawn Fraser, Harold Holt won the 1500 metres freestyle at the Tokyo Olympics.
‘All over the place like madwoman’s custard’ is a saying that means Australian dairy farmers can’t compete with cheap imported milk.
Australia is called the lucky country because they are so tolerant they let immigrants set up their own little communities and don’t expect them to adapt to the Australian way of life.
Before she became the leader of One Nation, Pauline Hanson ran a takeaway Chinese restaurant at Surfer’s Paradise.
Australia is a really safe place for backpackers and tourists in general.
Anzac Day is held in honour of soldiers who fought to keep the White Australia Policy going, and soldiers who were cruelly beaten by Asians.
The stars on the Australian flag symbolise we are the 51st – 57th States of America, therefore it is not against the law to burn it in public and put the video on U-Tube.
Australia is the best place to bring drugs into and commit bad crimes because you won’t get punished like you do overseas.
David Hicks is innocent and should be allowed to go to university and become Prime Minister one day.
The most famous quote by an Australian Prime Minister was, “By 2020 no Australian will not be able to speak Mandarin.”
400 million Indian women whose children suffer from insomnia have bought copies of the DVD ‘Highlights of Ricky Ponting’s Captaincy’ to help their children sleep. “My child falls to sleep as soon as he starts changing the field around between overs,” was the most common reason for so many women buying the DVD.
“He will rot and burn in hell for making the casket out of wood,” self-appointed spokesperson for the Texas hate group Shirley Phelps said. “It’s a deliberate attempt by Hollywood Jew slimebag sinner undertakers to deify a known public homosexual, and drag millions of other faggot-loving, movie watching, popcorn crunching scum to hell. Actors aren’t worthy of being buried in wooden caskets when God’s only son died on wood. God is 100% love but He hates fags. Just read John 43.16. The Jews know Jesus died on the Cross. They put him there because He was on his way to Texas to set up a global spiritual kingdom in the regional south of the United States with Mary Magdalene’s sister Martha who was John the Baptist’s niece, rid this country of filth, and propagate a nation of virtuous monogamous Baptist latter day Saints. If you study a map of Calvary and Christ’s last footsteps you will see they were pointing to Texas. That’s a real red carpet. One of your own blood. He died of a broken heart at not being able to fulfil his life’s mission as much as he did of his injuries. He could have flown to Texas in a helicopter he made when he was 12 but didn’t want to scare people with his knowledge of future events too much and got the Apostles to burn it along with the blueprints. Fortunately our founder realised this by divine revelation after fasting for three months in a desert cave while writing the Baptist Manifesto and interpreting the Bible properly, and continued Christ’s child-bearing work on earth with select Baptist virgins such as myself, while everyone else stumbled around in complete ignorance of God’s word by reading non-Baptist literature. To this day he won’t fly by helicopter. God waited almost two thousand years to see if there was a person anywhere near as morally upright as our founder. God is infinitely patient but not with fags. What’s a few thousand years to God? Most of the time he just spends counting how many more faggots are in hell, and how much compassion he shows to them by letting them live long enough to convert. But they’re too reprobate. He’s waiting for the end of the world when he only has to hang around Baptists, and can forget how evil faggots are. After the evil Jews killed Christ, they purposely set up the media to deny it ever happened, and the Muslims and other false Christian sects transcribed these writings into their own false faith or just invented false teachings. When Jews couldn’t get their message out to enough unbelievers on scrolls, they invented the printing press to corrupt the masses, and in league with Satan invented the net using the devil’s love child Bill Gates, whose mother was Marilyn Monroe impregnated with L Ron Hubbard’s preserved sperm. 2000 years on and New York Jewish undertakers are still mocking Christ by making caskets out of wood for fags. But God will have the last laugh. And what a long laugh it will be. And we’ll be the only ones there with Him. He dispersed the Jews and put them in Hollywood and New York banks and let them run the media and the world as a generational race punishment for their wickedness. Most Jews are faggots anyway. It’s a known fact backed up by statistics the Wall St Journal shrouds in money talk. They might be in control in this life but just wait till the next when us Westboro Baptists are proved right. So many people miss the irony of American soldiers dying in the Holy Land, and how God allows their bodies to be brought back to this cesspool country of iniquity, whoredom, sodomy and blasphemy to be buried. He doesn’t want their corpses polluting the area where his Son grew up just like he doesn’t want them in Texas. And then you have Australian soldiers fighting on behalf of America when it’s none of their business, so they go back to that modern Gomhorra to be buried. Just as Judas infiltrated the Apostles so Mel Gibson was called by God to go into Hollywood and make real films about Christ to wake the pro-Semitic world up to itself. But people who don’t read the Bible are so dumb they arrested him for drinking, after Christ drank wine to set an example of how even before you die you should eat and drink to keep your strength up. God used Gibson to lead him to the Baptist faith but so far even he doesn’t understand his calling. Hitler did the world a favour, and Charles Manson should be set free.”
Immigrants who were granted Australian citizenship on Australia Day in Melbourne yesterday by Mayor John So have questioned why they need to learn English when the Lord Mayor can’t speak any. “I couldn’t understand a word he said,” said former Greek immigrant, and Rod Laver Arena cleaner Maria Popadopadoulous. She admitted to nodding and saying Yes to whatever it was Mayor So said during the ceremony. “Was that Mandarin? And what’s with the funny ‘ho-ho-ho’ machine-gun laugh? I would have felt more comfortable if Kevin Rudd was here to translate. What upsets me most is, after all that, I’m still not sure if I’m an Australian citizen or not.”
Sydney Mardi Gras organisers have hired Bindi Irwin to counsel gay horses to get over their stable phobias and come out in force this year at the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. “Certain horses are born gay,” animal and life expert Bindi said. “They can’t help it. They should be accepted into society like Phar Lap and Makybe Diva were. Why should all the straight horses get whipped in public arenas like Flemington racecourse while the gay horses who love that stuff miss out?” Bindi, who thinks Horse Whispering is a load of crap for effeminate men says she shouts at the horses. She plans to dress up as a schoolgirl dominatrix and ride the leading gay horse in the parade by standing on her head, while she dances and sings, recites the script of Brokeback Mountain backwards, while formulating a plan to save the Great Barrier Reef. Bindi even hopes her father is reincarnated as a gay. “He can always adopt a dolphin,” she said to the famous Wiggles tune. Bindi denied rumours she was a lesbian or that she was really pissed off at not being named Young Australian of the Year or getting a gig on Dancing With The Stars. “I’m as comfortable in my own skin as I am as dad was in a wetsuit,” Bindi said as she cut short the media conference to take a phone call from NASA to help their chief rocket scientist solve a problem.
Lee Kernaghan, newly crowned Australian of the Year, and Pauline Hanson's favourite musician was the first to congratulate Nicole's foetus in his acceptance speech, saying her womb was "an inspiration to all real Australians."
Heath Ledger’s uncle said he didn’t realise the media would want to interview him about Heath’s state of mind during his last hours due to the fact he hasn’t seen his nephew for a month, and apologised to the world for wearing a tacky shirt on national TV. He refused to be drawn into answering questions about what shirt he would wear for the funeral saying it was inappropriate to discuss such matters.
The New York’s coroner’s office have confirmed that paint was found on the walls of Heath Ledger’s apartment. “We want to speak to the painter,” NYs chief forensic expert said. “There was not even a spot of paint on the floorboards, and that is unusual to the point of being suspicious. Over my thirty years on the force, I’ve dealt with dozens of painters, but I’ve never seen anything like this. This guy either knows how to put a drop sheet down properly or he is methodically careful. This is the guy I want to paint my beach house in Miami.”
Gay issues aside, because I don’t want to go into my personal life or what it’s like being a gay, could-have-been rodeo cowboy in suburban Perth, or how many rocking horses and whips and horse blinkers me and my partner Bruce have in the house, or our ride ‘em cowboy water bed, or how we made our house a replica of the Ponderosa from Bonanza, or my stamp collection of famous horse stamps, or why I never had a Barbie doll but loved dressing Ken up in Barbie’s clothes, I’d like to blog about the memories I have of Ledge and me as two very normal hetero kids growing up in Western Australia. One of the things I remember most about me and Ledge is the sausage sizzles down at the local Lion’s Park run by the Freemasons. I didn’t realise I was gay back then. I thought my obsession over how Ledge ate a sausage was just male bonding and Aussie mateship. He used to say, ‘Why do you watch me eat every sausage? I said, ‘You eat them so slowly, and I scoff them down. You’re still licking your first sausage, and I’ve already eaten three.” I should have known I’d turn out gay. Both of us should have, but neither of us had enrolled in drama classes at that stage. Neither of us had been corrupted by film culture. We didn’t know how metaphorical and prophetic a sausage could be or what impact it could have on our lives in our pre-pubescent Stanislavski days. We were just normal Aussie teenagers. We used to leave the Lions Park and go and watch each other take a dump in the neighbouring park and say things like, ‘Wow, man, you’ve shitted the whole sausage out just like it was when they put it on bread.’ And that’s what I admire most about Ledge. He could act gay but he never turned gay. I don’t know how he did it. I guess he was just a stronger character than I was. He was able to look at a certain moment in time and realise a sausage was a sausage and a dump wasn’t a sausage but just waste. He could cope with the difference between what’s cinema and what’s real life. I never could. I still see visions of sausage sizzles and dumps every time I watch Brokeback Mountain, whereas he moved on with his life. He’s moved on to death and I’m stuck here wondering whether I should trust the local butcher.
I don’t like name-dropping. By other people. So many people who didn’t know my mate Ledge (Heath Ledger) are writing about his death like they knew him in real life. It makes me sick. Being such close mates, I know Ledge would have wanted me to write something about this. Even though we didn’t speak about it yesterday on the phone. It’s not like he knew he was going to die just after we chatted. We talked about old times, like we always did. Just for a couple of hours. Like we do every few days. I don’t like big-noters, but Ledge did say to me, ‘If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be where I am today.’ What could I do but agree with him? When I knew it was the truth? Anyway, to fill a few of you people in who didn’t know him like I did - Back when we were school mates in Western Australia in one of Perth’s poofta-bashing suburbs, we were both considering acting as a career. One day, I said to Ledge, ‘Let’s do drama at school, dress up as fairies and girls, and see what happens to us.’ He said, ‘We’ll get the shit bashed out of us.’ I agreed, but then said to him, ‘One day, they’ll make lots films about pooftas, and they’ll be really popular. There will come a time when films about straight men aren’t anywhere near as popular as films about poofs. This could make or break both of us.’ He agreed. Nowadays I’ve learnt to call pooftas gays, but back then pooftas were pooftas. Neither of us wanted to miss out on the chance to play the role of a gay in a Hollywood film just because we knew nothing about gays, and were busy shagging chicks. So we both agreed to do act like gays for as long as it took. We even went to school wearing dresses and did home ec, typing and business studies. One day, while we were both in hospital recovering from injuries after the local footy team bashed the shit out of us, Ledge said, ‘You play a lot better gay bastard than I do.’ I had to agree. It was true. ‘You should move to Sydney and do film school,’ he said. That’s when I sacrificed my future film career for him. I just looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘Ledge, I’ve got a confession to make.’ He looked at me. I looked back at him. He looked away. I said, ‘Look at me.’ He did. Then I said, ‘After being sodomised by so many straight guys from the local footy club, I’ve learnt to enjoy it. I am gay now. I can’t act as a gay man in a film. I can only be gay. You’re a better actor than me. You go for it.’ And he did. And he never forgot it. Till last night when he died. When you forget everything. He even sent me and my partner Bruce a signed copy of Brokeback Mountain, and wrote on it, ‘Thanks for sacrificing your straightness for my career.’ So I wish fame-by-association celebrity wannabes who didn’t know Ledge like I did would stop writing about him as if they did.
Nameless and faceless Pakistani people whose family members were killed in a recent suicide bomb attack have all taken up Blogging to write about the devastation in their lives about the news that Heath Ledger is dead.
Hollywood moves quickly. Only hours after Australian actor Heath Ledger was found dead from a drug overdose in Soho, Will Smith, Spike Lee and Michael Jackson flew to Soho’s crack and smack joints to produce ‘I was Ledger’. Smith is going to play a crack dealing, hip-hop, rapping, anti-Aussie honky, and denies he was typecast. Lee will use a hand-held cam and do minimal editing (apart from interspersing flashback clips of Britney Spears and Ledger together to establish a backstory and how he got onto drugs) in order to get the film out at the box office by tomorrow and on U-Tube by tonight. Lee insists Jackson was cast in the starring role as Ledger not just due to his white skin and striking similarity to Ledger especially in the nose area, but due to his association with Elizabeth Taylor, who will play a cameo as Ledger’s tyrannical Aussie mother, who flies to LA to audition for the part of the Joker and seeks revenge on her son in New York when she misses out on the part.
A group of sight-impaired people who were promised front-row seats to the Maria Sharapova match at Rod Laver arena last night, and paid big money for the tickets, only to be taken to a pig farm at Werribee by a Melbourne con man. The visually-impaired were convinced they were on centre court at the Sharapova match when they heard the constant grunting and squealing of the pigs, unaware the con man was smacking them on the rump with a tennis racquet and throwing tennis balls at their snouts. When one of their guide dogs jumped the fence around the pig-sty to defend the pigs, he was attacked by a near-sighted sow, leading to an all-in brawl between the pigs and the guide dogs. The sight-impaired thought the barking was unruly ethnic supporters. It wasn't until the owner of the pig farm arrived, and threw rotten capsicums at the con man, causing him to flee in the bus that they realised something was wrong. The con man has been described as having a loud voice. Anyone with information on a man with a loud voice is urged to contact Crime Stoppers.
Australia’s leading medical practitioners have warned women who drink coffee while pregnant are in danger of taking caffeine into their systems.
Leading women’s fashion designer Target have found a novel way of marketing their own brand of women’s bras after they break in half on their shoddy, third-world production lines. They have added a dodgy elastic waist band to each half-bra and released them as tennis ball holders for women tennis players to wear around their waists. The Bra Ball-Bag has become a popular fashion accessory for all women in the top 100. “Most of us are lesbians,” said a top 50 player. “As much as we enjoy the feel of our own hands tucking the tennis ball into our briefs, it looks a bit like a large cyst on our bums under our skirts or pants. Seeing the ball in a bra cup on the outside is not only more fashion conscious, it’s titillating. It keeps us focused. We win our matches quicker. There’s more to life than tennis.”
Starving African children have placed their adoption money from non third-world countries into a fund to help Venus Williams get over her thigh injury in the Australian Open. Venus was so touched by their charity she plans to use part of the funds to buy $1M earrings with all the diamonds shaped in a T. "It was my mom's idea. She said it was the best way to say 'T'hanks." Poppa Williams said, "Even if half of these chldren die before the end of the Australian open, their parents will look at the little T-shaped cross above their grave and thank God for Venus's achievements for black humanity." Serena added, "She's the black Mother Teresa."
The Australian Opens’ 36th biggest loser, a fit and ripped Marcos Baghdatis, has had an obese person’s gutful of pussy woos Australian attitudes to politically correct bullshit. “I can’t tolerate tolerance or the tolerant,” he said as he burnt a thousand Australian flags from Cheap as Chips with Cash Converters matches to get a souvlaki barbie going in the back yard of the Melbourne soccer-loving bikie group of louts and hoons, Hellas Angels. “The next Skip, Bunning’s sausage-sizzle eating bogan who apologises for calling me a Turkish Cyprian Smelly Wog Bastard, I’ll serve such a big backhander with a topspinning kick and slice, they’ll wish their parents were Lleyton and Bec Hewitt and they went MIA before the soapie action started in the bedroom. Either that, or I’ll drag them from their new-estate addresses in Melbourne’s western suburbs to a Greek restaurant in South Yarra by their hairy nipples and bumholes and challenge them to a moustache-off with my auntie to see who gets the last lamb steak.”
If there is one thing that I won't consider doing it's hypothesizing. There's nothing I like less than lessons that aren't learnt, ladies and lads. What could happen is part of so much nasal gazing. Looking down at others who are looking down at you is like looking up your own skirt. If there's one thing that gets up my skirt it would have to be my hand. Looking down my nose is a business that is all about the bottom. Line for line this post is part and parcel of delivering letters. After I've been to the urinals you'll know why they call me "Tinkle toes". I'm a real man. Of letters and warts, I'll take tablets. There's a great many thins to be gained from denying yourself. From this you can infer that I've fallen off. Let me just confer with my fingers. I'm one of those types who just can't stop at a red light district. It's go go, dancers. Standing at a dancefloor is a big part of my mating ritual. Dancing is a bigger part of my laugh. Standing and dancing: verbs.
An Indian has branded a poll racist.
An international poll of one white supremacist has branded the Indian cricket team and Indian supporters racists.
Argumentative people will argue arguments are not only worthwhile but necessary to prove the point they wish to argue, and a person not entering into an argument to prove their point, has no point. So much so, the argumentative person will end up arguing with himself to prove this point. Non argumentative types, who could argue that arguments don't prove anything, prefer not to argue. The reason cows take a long time to come home is they live in the shed.
Both dairy cows and beef cows go Moo. If you milk a beef cow, you get steak. If you cut up a dairy cow you get a litre of milk. Don't believe everything the supermarkets tell you. When you buy powdered milk it is not from a cow that died in the paddock and turned to dust. When you buy condensed milk it is not from a shrunken cow. Be very careful buying beef jerky.
After being criticised by the Sri Lankans for inserting a squash ball into his glove during the World Cup final to gain an unfair advantage, Adam Gilchrist has decided to use a basketball in both gloves during his second innings in Perth. He also plans to put two soccer balls in his shoes to cope with the extra bounce at the WACA. "I wont be wearing traditional pads either," Gilly said. "I've cut down a couple of AFL goal posts and will be strapping them to my shins." Instead of a helmet, Gilcrhist will wear a netball on his head with specially cut-out eye sections so he can see. Instead of the traditional 'protector' known as a box to protect his nether regions, Gilchrist will strap a real cardboard box around his loins. "It's a box a hockey stick comes in when you order them online," he said. "It might look a bit silly at first, but it will give me extra protection, being almost a metre long." Instead of thigh pads, Gilchrist will bend two tennis racquets in half and insert them into his creams. "They will give extra value for leg byes," he said, "due to the bounce." Instead of a chest guard, Gilly will tie a dart board to his chest and wear a larger-than-normal shirt. "We can learn a lot from other sports."
Of all the things that make me debate the worth of opinions it would have to be debating. There's always two sides. To every story it pays to fall asleep. Stories are deeply appealing to the troubled minefield. Opinions are, as the say, likeable. If I was to enter into debate with my adversary I would first adopt a few children. Adopting your adversary's position is akin to going on a mission. Going on a mission is not to be sneezed. Pepper, I can never understand, is. The salt of the earth is what I'm not. I'm a regular peeper, Tom. In any season, I should always like to shake a leg. It's high time I got off my rocker. If I haven't already. When dining out on the stupidity of yourself, shake well. Well, I think I've said my peas are undercooked. It's sort of over now. Salt and pepper: opposite.
An Anglo-Saxon man who brought a currie pie into the WACA today to eat during lunch at the cricket will not be charged with trying to incite a riot.
After an Australian/Greek supporter at the Australian Open Tennis disarmed a police officer of his capsicum spray, used it to spice up her fetta/olive salad, then turned the can on her mouth and drained the contents, Melbourne police have decided to introduce a 4&20 meat pie spray to control ethnic violence by fans at major sporting events. “We need to use something they don’t like as a deterrent,” Commissioner Nixon said.
Besides chairs with two legs, I can't stand anything. If there's one thing that falls to the floor faster than one of those it's something else. Some things are somethings I can't stand. If I was to stand something it'd be something I could tolerate standing. Reason is something that makes things stand and it's no thing at all. A tall chair with three legs is no chair at all but at least it stands a chance. Chance is another thing I can't stand because it doesn't stand to attention. You can ponder it all day and get only so far as the nose on the end of your farce. Still, a stool with four legs might stand up on your nose on only one leg. I hope so I hop so. On only one leg you can only hop so far. So far, I'm not mad enough to try. Try as you might to try, you'll flail. If there's one thing that is bound to flail it would have to be arms. Arms are very dangerous. Particularly, in the wrong hands arms are a lethal cocktail. I'll chance my arm at just about any something. Chance doesn't really stand to reason. Chance and reason: opposite. I should hope so.
I'm here to tell you that whatever I tell you will be telling. You can probably tell that if you're told something by me it's okay by me. I can tell you that I'm here to tell you that. I can tell you have been told because I told you so. I told you so you could tell that when I'd told you you could tell. You could tell the way I told you that what I tell you is telling. Tell me, what have you been told about abusing yourself with a megaphone? I thought I told you that to do that would be telling. It's telling that what I told you about that has not told on you. The bell has tolled and it was for you. I told you that. If I told you something telling you would have to pay a toll. I have and you will have to. I'm telling on you that what telling things I had for you, and that were told in private, haven't told on you in public. Abuse of oneself with a vocal enhancement contraption is highly suspicious habit. I won't tell you again that I'm telling a tale told by an eared it. I have two and they hear only what I have to tell. I have to tell you that I only hear what I won't too. You might be able to tell that the time it takes me to tell the time is the time it takes. Tellingly, the time is told till time takes hold. Ears and eyes: telling.
Ricky Ponting’s father has placed Ricky’s mother in rehab for an out-of-control addiction to phone abuse and extra-marital affairs. Ponting’s father admitted that his wife was a long-time lover of abuse, and actively encouraged it in the household as young Ricky was growing up, even though Ricky’s father describes himself as a placid blue-collar worker of unquestionable integrity. “My wife wanted Ricky brought up in an atmosphere of personal abuse, sledging, racism and sexism,” he said, “in order to toughen him up for the rigours of international cricket, where players sometimes bat for at least two minutes over a five day period under intense pressure, and then have to go through the same intense pressure months later, after having to laze around doing next-to-nothing for ages. This type of lifestyle puts an extraordinary strain on an elite cricketer’s mind. All the cricketer wants to do is play cricket, not spend time travelling all over the world holidaying and shopping. You can talk all you like about Aussie cricketers being on million dollar contracts, but very few people understand how many sacrifices are involved. But back to my wife’s problems. I think it all started when Ricky left home to marry what’s-her-name. My wife missed the abuse at the kitchen table. I can’t remember the last time we had the evening meal before 11pm since Ricky left. She’s spent most nights just arguing with Indian telemarketers. Only recently, I found out she’d hooked up with one of those curry-munchers based in Hobart and has been having an affair with him since the 2005 Ashes loss. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no racist. I’d be just as upset if the bloke who was shagging her was an abo on the dole, or a mop-haired coconut from the West Indies. I just hope she’s not pregnant. We’ve already got one black guy playing for Australia.”
In order to diffuse tension between the two cricketing nations, The ICC have approved the execution and cremation of Steve Buchnor, and granted permission for his ashes to be placed in a little monkey-shaped urn, which will become the prized trophy for all future Australia / India Test series – The Steve Buchnor Ashes. The 20/20 clash due to take place at the MCG in early February, has been rescheduled for Saturday night, and transferred to the SCG to coincide with Buchnor’s death by fire which will be the pre-match entertainment. Buchnor will be tied to a 2m tall, 3 Mobile cricket stump in the middle of the SCG complete with stump cam, microphone and live downloads on 3 Mobiles with commentary by Boof Lehmann, while Ricky Ponting and Anil Kumble adjourn to the SCG trophy room. Here they will set the Border Gavasker trophy alight, carry the burning item down the players’ race together in this Olympic year, onto the sacred turf between both teams, hand it over to Richie Benaud, dressed in Cathy Freeman’s 2000 Olympics 400m winner’s costume and a pink bow tie. Benaud will then place it reverently at Buchnor’s feet. As Buchnor burns to death, Lara Bingle will be backup vocalist to Steve Waugh, David Boon and Jimmy Barnes singing Advance Australia Fair to the tune of Khe Sanh. Marcia Hines and Sachin Tendulkar’s wife will then perform a duet of the Indian National Anthem to the soundtrack of the hit TV series Monkey. When Buchnor is fully aflame, the Border Gavaskar trophy will be shunted to the middle of the pitch by Ian Chappell driving the curator’s tractor, to burn by itself, and its ashes will be put into a commissioned bronze KFC Filler sculpture, and presented to the best singers of the national anthem as judged by Australian Idol Guy Sebastian and Tony Greig. Cricket and Entertainment? Opposites.
Harbajhan Singh has told his lawyer he fears dying of old age before the ICC hear his case for racial abuse. At a packed Sydney media conference, he said, “I would very much like my children to speak on my behalf but I fear they might also be dead before this hearing, so I would like very much to change my will, and add a clause instructing my future grandchildren to represent me, should the case ever go ahead.” Harbajhan believes he will be reincarnated by then, but not necessarily as himself again in order to pass Murali’s record, or a famous Indian cricketer of the future, or as one of his own grandchildren in order to represent his former self as himself. “I’ve been a bit of a naughty monkey during this life, but nothing bad enough to see me come back as a ‘see no evil’ – ‘see nothing’ umpire from the Caribbean land of monkeys, or one of those unwanted Caribbean cheat monkey doll exports with dreadlocks.” Ricky Ponting – disguised as an Indian journalist complete with a twisted, yet slighty-wet towel from the team hotel on his head, the penthouse suite curtains draped around his torso, and a bootpolished face, in an obvious visual and costumed cultural sledge, taunted Harbajhan. “If you keep talking like that, aren’t you afraid you’ll come back as an ICC official?” Rather than lose his integrity, Harbajhan quickly produced a cricket ball, and threatened to bowl a vicious top-spinner at the pseudo- journalist. Ponting dismissed himself, and for the first time in his life, he walked.
Einstein, you don't have to be Einstein to work out, is the opposite of Newton, Einstein. To work it out, relatively speaking, is to put to and fro together to make the aforementioned. To mention others at this relatively late stage would be, in principal, putting the car before the hearse. Dead people should always go first. When I go I hope I don't go. Going is, hopefully, a little like going anyway. Going anyway is an idea. Not that anyone has any one choice, apparently. It's apparent that the way Newton saw things is not the way Einstein saw them. To say that they saw things at all is a guess. Many prominent elderly gentlemen have poor optical allusions. Jews are also prone to being miserly. The Scottish Jew, as Einstein knew Newton, was a particularly handsome hoarder. It's considered unwise to make lofty comparisons but call me an oiled fool. I can literally count on the fingers of my two feet. The times I've had. Jew and Gentry: a couple of fossils.
The Indian Cricket Board have sent a real monkey out to Australia to replace Harbajhan Sing for the Perth Test. The portly monkey’s passport has him listed as ‘Big Monkey’, ‘Monkey B.’ and ‘Big M.’ India are sending a clear message to Australia. “Call him Big Monkey and we’ll be reporting you to the ICC.” Scoreboards will list him as MB., BM, or Big M. Channel 9s WWOS Commentary Team are locked behind closed doors tonight trying to come up with a non-racist name for the new member of the team. Head of the Commentary Team, RIchie Benaud rejected Tony Greig’s idea to call him ‘Symonds’. Michael Slater was sent home after suggesting ‘Ooh ooh oooh, aah aah aah, it’s not Glen McGrath.” Ian Chappell suggested shifting the Test Perth to Darwin and promoting it as a post Packer revolution evolution but Mark Nicholas was against the idea as he didn’t want to offend the Church of England or Sir Michael Parkinson who was a close friend of the Queen. Ricky Ponting has struck a deal with Anil Kumble, and counselled all of his players not to engage in racist name calling or take cheap shots at Big M’s appearance by referring to him as ‘Small Human’. He suggested just appealing hard every ball he faced, even if it was a wide, or dead ball, as a united show of Australian sportsmanship and integrity. He even suggested appealing for a catch in slips as the Australian team made their way onto the ground. Even ringing the umpires to appeal at 2am in the morning from their hotel rooms and just going ‘HOwzat?!’ Environmentalists and animal lovers have been snapping up tickets for the chance to see a wild animal in a natural environment. Greenpeace and Amnesty International have come on board as major sponsors for Big Monkey’s cap after he revealed at a press conference he wouldn’t wear a helmet when opening the batting, even against Bollywood Lee. “I want to bring attention to the plight of my incarcerated relatives caged in zoos around the world,” Big M said. Nelson Mandela is flying in from South Africa for the match but denies he is a distant relative to Big M. “I’m just making a statement about the hardships of prison life for monkeys and humans in captivity,” he said. An offer from McDonalds to sponsor Big M and release a Big M burger were rejected by Big M’s manager, Dean Jones, who said Hindus and Terrorists don’t eat cow. McDonald’s management refused to confirm or deny they were creating a dog burger for the subcontinental market or would be trialling a Sacred Vegan Cow Burger made of synthetic beef at the Perth Test with the catchphrase ‘We don’t just reinvent ourselves. We reincarnate ourselves.” KFC will sponsor Big M with a series of ads featuring Ricky Ponting and Big M catching feral cats and wild myxamytosis rabbits in the outback, cooking them up on a fire fuelled by photos and effigies of a sight-impaired Steve Buchnor, then eating KFC Papadam Fillers and afterwards playing a friendly match of sledging on opposite banks of the Katherine River in NT, where Big M calls Ponting a skip, convict white piece of trash, and Ponting calls him an indigenous dole bludger. The meat in KFC Fillers and monkey meat? Equals.
Pepsi (the only Cola sold at KFC outlets) are sponsoring Andrew Symond's mum, a committed Darwinist, and full-time resident of Sydney's Taronga Park Zoo by footing the bill for a year's supply of unshelled peanuts and lady-finger bananas for her son. Most of them will be shaped like Kookaburra Cricket balls so Andrew can practice his off-spinners from the public area, beyond the security fences. "I don't like getting mum out but if she's going to pull monkey faces like Indian supporters while I bowl, I'll be ripping the bananas and peanuts into the rough," Symonds said unapologetically. "You can choose your friends but you can't choose your primates or your teammates. Or something like that." Mrs Symonds has refused to wear a helmet even when hanging from a tree . "The zoo keepers have given me a wide-screen digital television, an LG TV, and a copy of the Black&White Minstrels, which is my favourite show because it reminds me of my son, but they put the screen upside down, so what choice do I have?" Harbajhan Sing said this was just one more examples of Aussie cheating. "We've been bowling bananas on dustbowls for peanuts for years." Coca Cola will be working feverishly to find one of those old thick bottles from the 60s to have a new pair of glasses for Steve Buchnor ready by the start of the third test in Perth, should the series go ahead. McDonalds have offered to let Buchnor use their mayonnaise factory to swim in so he appears white and non-racist next time he umpires, as long as he dresses up as Hamburgler. Pepsi and Coke? Even monkeys only use them to sanitise thier bumholes.
After a test match full of bad umpiring decisions, including a complete blunder by Steve Buchnor when he not only ate his lunch without a bib in the Whities Only section of the SCG dining room but ordered a home delivery Red Rooster chicken not only without consulting the major sponsors KFC, but failing to ask if women delivery drivers were allowed in the Whitie Men only section, then dribbled steroid-injected preservative juice and the yoke of a stillborn egg on his white shirt, India have threatened to quit world cricket unless SideBoTToM is the only umpire allowed to officiate in all test matches, and be the first, second, third and fourth umpire. Even if this means he has to umpire online, via mobile phone or LANline. All while playing for England, any county cricket side, or playing marbles with the pebbles on Brighton Beach against Maggie Thatcher's beach chair. Or uses snail mail to make his decisions. Or dictates his decisions to a computer literate secretary regardless of his/her gender. "We need correct decisions," Rahul Dravid's English & Chemistry teacher said from Oxford while he dined with the Queen, who said, "It's just not cricket." Even if each decision takes three weeks, and we have to replay the last four days of each test in Pakistan after the first wicket is left in dispute. The whole system needs a complete overhaul and SideBoTToM is the only man who can do it." SideBoTToM declined to respond, citing an arse operation to rectify his propensity to fall towards the legside when facing Doosras. Bad Decistions and Good Decisions? SideBoTToM!
Australian medium-fast bowler Stuart Clark plans to spend most of 2008 in the nets. Not the cricket nets, but fishing nets off the NSW coast, and hair nets in McDonald’s kitchens, in order to stretch his face into some sort of expression. “I hope to be able to smirk sometime around mid July next year,” Clark said. “And break into a full smile by Christmas, especially if the tuna are biting at Eden.” In between fishing and cooking trips, he plans to work feverishly on getting each eyebrow to move by smothering them in nuclear cheese from McDonald’s and sleeping in their rat-infested dumpster bins at night. “Fighting off the homeless will keep me in good shape for the domestic season.” The man noted for his complete lack of expression said his favourite hobby was going to funerals. “I read the death notices in the newspaper every day, and attend as many as I can. I’m often asked if I’m a relative. Even by relatives. It’s a nice feeling when you can’t smile, and only ever laugh on the inside. Plus I’ve been made beneficiary of a lot of elderly widow’s wills.” Asked why he took up such a strange hobby, Clark said he had to do something after being banned from the live, stand-up comedy circuit. “My joke about Richie Benaud’s wife’s pink underwear was a ripper, too. I nearly laughed myself.” Laughter and Indian Cricket performances? Equals.
A person was walking along a road. This person wondered why he/she was walking at all when she/he had nowhere to go, and nothing to go to. So the person turned around, and began walking back to where he/she had come from. Then she/he realised he/she wasn't living anywhere of note nor doing anything of signifigance before setting out on his/her journey, so there seemed to be no more point in turning around and returning to a known and familiar nothingness, than there was to continuing walking towards a new nothingness. The man or woman, boy or girl, realised he or she had come to a crossroad in his/her life. The most confusing part of this was the fact that the crossroad of life existed on a straight road. One without any sign of an intersection or junction. No traffic lights. And no anger. The road didn't seem cross at all. There were no signs on this road at all. It was just a signless road. The signless road of life with no directions. No maps. The person thought about marriage and getting one's driver's licence. How similar marriage and driving a car was to a signless road. And why people buy cars and get married. Maybe someone into reading roads or a marriage counsellor or someone with a really nice car with air conditioning could have found some direction but this person was not a road reader nor a married postgraduate university student about to do a PhD on how to go about having children. This person was a road traveller. This person had been to school for many years and never heard of a class about reading roads or how to prevent a failed marriage by taking the right road or why some cars use more petrol than others, or why the nozzle on a petrol pump is smaller for unleaded smart cars. This only added to person's confusion. The person thought about running, then remembered the saying of a wise person. "There's no use running if you're on the wrong track." So the person didn't run. The person looked around for a rock and a hard place. Whoever made the road had crushed the rocks beforehand. And the environment was easy on the eye. The only saving grace was liquourice allsorts. Hard-Boiled Lollies and Soft-Centres? Opposites.
Ricky Ponting is batting like the scared little white-skinned monkey he is. Every time Harbajhan Singh bowls to him, he makes Charles Darwin look like a better batsman than Sir Donald Bradman. In order to make some runs, Ponting has accused Singh of racism, in the hpe he will be banned from the rest of the series and he can bat against the bowlers who can't get him out first ball every time he bats. The Australian media will paint Ponting like a latter-day Mormom saint worthy of having eternal sex with 100 clones of Michael Clarke's pseudo girlfriend, Laura non Binger Lee Bingle, and populating his own planet called Ponting 17, and they will paint Singh as a destructive Indian flower, with a darker pigment of paint than Van Gough used to paint his famous yellow flowers - monkey poo brown. They will paint Harbajhan like Charles Darwin's uncle Orangutan Darwin (the one who gave birth to God at Christmas time). According to Michael Slater, "There has to be a line drawn in the sand." Tony Greig thinks Michael Slater should play beach cricket, if he wants to draw lines in the sand. Michael Slater reminded Tony Greig of the time he said on camera that an Asian woman getting married in the background looked like a mail-order bride. Tony Greig said Michael Slater should get a haircut. Slater said that if Tony Greig had hair, he'd give the mobile number (3 Mobile) of his hairdresser to Tony Greig as long as he didn't cash in on it on e-Bay. The monkeys at Tooronga Park Zoo did Michael Symonds and Steve Buchnor impersonations and went, "ooh ooh ooh, aah, aah, aah." Ian Healey said they were practising their dead-ball signals for when monkeys take over from the third umpire. Richie Benaud wants to know why a bronze statue of him wasn't painted white but was left in monkey-coloured bronze. Racism in sport and denials on television of the absence of racism in sport? Equals.
It’s much better to flush the runs downs the cistern that splatter them all over the sideboard, but when India give Australia curry on the field, Ricky Ponting can’t stop the onslaught, or reduce the run rate below 43 kilolitres per cubicle. KFC can offer all the sponsorship dollars they like, and talk about sharing buckets off the field, which is fine and well if essential services don’t exist, but the players’ amenities at the SCG are a bit better than a Calcutta tent. Bill Lawry’s nostrils might be a great twin toilet when he’s standing on his head to commentate, but who is going to say, “It’s all happening here,” if Bill is bogged down at the crease by a dual pace attack, and deliveries are skidding through at 145kph? It’s enough to make Harbhajan Sing a new KFC jingle, “Can’t beat the Aussies.” Or Richie Benaud to stop wearing white suits. Getting the runs on the field, and getting them in the commentary box? Equals.
Sachin Tendulkar admitted nailing five live chickens to his cricket bat on Christmas Eve, in a new sponsorship deal for the Indian cricket team with KFC, after he came under increasing criticism for not hitting balls out of the meat of the bat. “It’s all about religious tolerance,” the wristy little master said. “It’s where Christianity meets consumerism and Hindu in a 20/20 head on St Patrick’s Irish snake kiss. “ The way those crucified chickens yell and scream when I score a quick single makes all Indian supporters at the SCG know that the ball is coming off the meat on the bat, or one of the five sweet spots, after I doused them in sweet and sour paprika Doosra sauce and greasy Bradd Hogg Chinaman mayo,” he added, after refusing to autograph an Australian dairy farmer’s cow. Andrew Symonds and Michael Clarke should be released from St George’s hospital today after barbequing and eating two of Tendulkar’s bats for a KFC advert without asking Haydos’s permission to use his barbeque, or consulting a recipe from his best-selling cookbook, ‘Margaret Fulton and Women’s Weekly – Eat Your Heart Out – It’s Healthy Food.’ Haydos was upset, but Symonds was spitting crinkle-cut dreadlock shaped chips, and Clarkie’s hair was just standing on end like he’d been mistaken for a stray cat, and electrocuted in a KFC oven malfunction by a junior employee on slave wages. Umpire Steve Buchnor gave Tendulkar not out caught behind twice after the ball successively hit a chiken head comb and chicken wing feathers, before flying through to Gilly. Snicko confirmed that Buchnor made the right decision. “He definitely feathered it,” Richie Benaud said, before being removed from the commentary box for laughing at his own jokes. Scans for dementia continue, while Mrs Benaud has been gagged and prevented from commenting to Channel 9. Binger Lee had Tendulkar caught by Ricky Ponting off a protruding baby chicken but replays show he overstepped the mark, and the Australian team were left with egg on their face. “Promoting healthy eating through KFC sponsorship is sending a positive message to kids about what sacrifices you have to make to play at an elite level,” Tony Greig said, as he ate imported kippers with his sterilised keyring in the SCG members’ dining room, rearranging the leftover bones on an artist’s easel for sale as another item of limited edition cricket memorabilia. The health factor of KFC and Tendulkar’s bats? Equals.
According to the dictionary, a damsel is a young unmarried woman. A damselfish is a small, brightly coloured, tropical marine fish of the family Pomacentridae, found in or near coral reefs. A damselfly is an insect like a slender dragonfly that folds its wings over its body when resting. It makes you wonder whether or not you should marry an unmarried woman with a penchant for expensive, brightly coloured clothes who sleeps cocooned in them with no regard to how much they cost or how much dry cleaners charge to get the wrinkles out. Damn-selfish women and damselfish? Equals.
Penalising a person by snuffing out their candle in a humane society where innocent animals are made and killed without wincing is a winner. Firing a squad of shooters for failing to shoot kangaroos with joeys in their pouches is fitting. Humans are superior to all of God's creatures. The tests are in and the results are positive. If God was still alive he'd roll around in his grave. Life, all life, faces death with the face of death. Killing innocent animals isn't all that bad when you realise they taste delicious. When you realise that the leg of pork in your fridge is like having your dead rellies dismembered, remembered and digested you'll enjoy it even more. We're as primitive as we ever weren't. Vegetarians are drawn and smudged but cannibals fit right in. Our society is a peaceful place except for all the bloodsheds. Sheds where blood is spilt are a tradition we all keep our hands in. Now, if you'll excuse me I'm off to eat some beautiful cow's bum. In the biblical sense. The sanctioned slaughter of animals and that of humans: opposite.
If you're anything like me you'll never compare others to yourself. No one stacks up chairs like I do. You, yourself, know like no other that knowing others is like knowing yourself. No way can anyone know anyone else like you know yourself, you know, yourself. You know yourself like I know no other can. Others, no less like you than you yourself, like you no less than you like them. Liking yourself is a known way to know that others like knowing you too. You too know that. Know that and you, and others, will know that nobody else stacks up at the end of the day. At the end of the day, no one known, there's no way known, knows the unknown. It's unknown that. It's unknown that no one doesn't have one of these: equal and opposite. Now that the unknown is known, and by no less a you than you, you can sit on top of your stack of cheers and laugh.
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